Caught in the Crossfire

Chapter 6

A week. Xavier died a whole week ago today. Sometimes, I still feel his kiss burning my mouth. Waking up just sharpens the pain. I'd rather live in my dreams, where Xavier is very much alive, and we're together at last. But District 13 wouldn't exist without every single citizen doing their part. I'm one of the district's record-keepers- not by choice. Just another requirement from my mother. Every morning, I type out reports of the food supply, population, and other resources. Yippee.

Mom and I eat breakfast in awkward silence. You could smash a hammer through such tension, and it wouldn't break. We've hardly spoken since Thirteen's Battle (or should I say, 'Battles'? It's more accurate). A few words are strung out each day, none of which run deeper than: "Do you want something to drink?" Yeah. That's how it's been. I want the woman to suffer along with me.

My sister is the only reason I remain under this roof. She can't go a minute without coughing up all kinds of awful stuff. A doctor's visit confirmed my worst fears: Despite yearly immunizations and tons of medications, the plague has infected Electra. And yet she's insisted on going about like everything's normal. Thankfully, you're almost never alone in District 13. Somebody could get help for her if she suddenly had a seizure or collapsed. Plus, just because she's sick doesn't mean she'll die. Medicine does wonders.

But that doesn't ease my worries about the fact that she's not here.

"Have you seen Electra?" I finally ask my mother.

Mom raises her eyebrows, perplexed. "She's got her shift at the gardens today. I thought you remembered."

"Kind of hard to remember little details like that," I hiss, "when two of our people were murdered last week."

"Would you quit pining over this boy already? He's dead."

See, this is what I mean. She thinks grieving makes a person weak, that acting tough is how you get anywhere. I don't even recall seeing her weep after Dad and Jason passed.

"It's not just Xavier, Mom," I say. "It's Chloe, too... What made you think you had the right?"

"Well, young lady, I am president, and leaders are free to make their own decisions, even if the people disagree with them. Take the District Twelve boy. I didn't actually pick his name."

"You didn't actually pick his name," I repeat.

"No. I had a different boy's name, and I just... called him up instead."

"Why am I not surprised?" I mumble.
"You shouldn't be, Alma. It's your fault."

Ignore that, I think. Ignore anything she says.

"How the heck is it my fault? I never wanted people to die."

"You really don't get it, do you, Alma?" she spits. "I know you kept Xavier's secret from me. You need to improve lowering your voices when you don't want anybody to hear you, because I overheard you two about a month ago; talking about his life in District Twelve. But you took that well. Clearly, he told you everything prior to the conversation."

Let the guilt sink in, is what I hear. I could've chosen to never mention District Twelve by name, and forbid words associated with it like 'coal' or 'mining'. Xavier might be standing beside me today if I had. Perhaps he'd still have been doomed after revealing the truth to my mother. But I didn't sell him out... which makes me a traitor. Nothing is worse, in Mom's eyes. Years might go by before I can gain back her trust.

"Okay," I confess, "I'm sorry for not coming forward myself. However, I'm not sorry that I protected him! Your rules are heinous. What does it matter if he lived in District Twelve? He was a refugee like everybody else we've accepted; and wasn't the whole underground design meant to be a safe haven? Instead, you give us our own version of the Hunger Games."

My mother walks forward, meeting me nose to nose. "Watch yourself, Alma Isolde Coin."

She says nothing further; and I remain still as she walks out the door. Paralyzed. I wish things could return to how they were when I was little. When she didn't take drastic measures for her own benefit. When she'd stay with me if I couldn't fall asleep, and she kissed me goodnight. There's always a chance she might become that mother again.

But I know what I have to do.
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Documenting our resources is usually draining- and unbelievably tedious! Not today, though. My work shift breezes by. Among the paperwork I must go over, there's a folder labeled "Room Assignments". Inside, I discover a few rooms that remain vacant. Just what I hoped for. Later, I'll ask Electra if she wants to room with me, so I can have some peace of mind. She and our mother shouldn't be in our suite again until dinner's finished. Not that it matters. I don't own many items.

By dinnertime, I've settled into the new room, and as I eat, I feel accomplished. My life is under my control. For once.

A hand touches my shoulder- Mom's.

"Hi," I manage to say.

"Alma. I stopped by the suite and I found all your things were gone. Care to explain?"

"I moved out," I reply defiantly. "Max got me my own room. I'm seventeen, so, you know, I can handle it."

"Oh." For a split second, she looks a little... melancholy. Then, it seems, she accepts my defiance. I guess even wicked people have limits. "You are more than capable, yes. So long as you continue fulfilling your responsibilities and you consult me whenever you're considering another major decision."

"Of course," I promise.

"You're not off the hook, though."
I know what punishment she's got in mind. "A week of sentry duty?"

"A week of sentry duty," she confirms.

I knew she didn't completely hate me. It's a mother's prerogative to be hard on their children. But she's deaf, blind, and dumb if she thinks I'm going to forgive her.

She bustles away, towards the podium, and she turns on the television. Nothing out of the ordinary; we catch up on news just about every day at dinner. And yet, there's no Capitol seal, like I was expecting. Two camera feeds appear onscreen, where two very familiar people are portrayed, dressed in black, strolling through a ruined city. One carries arrows over her shoulder and a bow in hand, her crimson locks tied back. The other, a young boy, holds a flogging stick.

I guess my mother wasn't happy with two victors, after all.